


Bitterness at the Reflection

by Diary



Series: Dog Saved World [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: American Sign Language, Bechdel Test Fail, Bitterness, Bottle Episode Fic, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Conversations, Deaf Clint Barton, Friendship/Love, Gen, Natasha Romanov-centric, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, POV Female Character, POV Natasha Romanov, Sharing a Bed, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cookies help Natasha realise somethings about Bruce and her own relationship with Clint. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitterness at the Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Avengers.

Natasha feels the urge to apologise but is given no chance as Clint finally lets go of her wrist and inquires, “Hey, doc, it okay if we steal some of your cookies?”

Banner gives them an amused look, waves his free hand, and goes back to prodding one of the iron masks with dry ice.

While Clint is literally inhaling the smell of one of the cookies, Natasha shrugs a lab coat on over her nightdress, tries to tame her hair as best she can, and debates throwing her pink bunny slippers into the lab’s incinerator.

“What I don’t understand,” Clint mumbles through his mouthful, “is why Stark is always plying you with food.”

“It’s conditioning,” Banner replies. He looks up, takes off his safety glasses, and looks between them.

His tone is mild and dry, but Natasha finds herself adjusting her stance so she can tackle Clint into the decontamination shower, hit the safety alarm with the tray of cookies, and lock them inside until Iron Man or Captain America appears to usher the Hulk into one of the containment rooms.

“It’s not as unfamiliar to you as you might think,” he continues. He slides his glasses back on. “Or to Agent Romanov, for that matter.”

“Shows what you know,” is Clint’s cheerful reply. He stuffs more cookies in his mouth. “Tasha hasn’t conditioned me. And,” he adds a bit sharply, “there’s no conditioning that can fully hold her.”

He gives her a half-searching, half-concerned look, and she simply shakes her head. Whether she or the Red Room’s breaking of her holds the oneus of responsibility for all the red she’ll never fully dispense of is something she’s forced herself to stop trying to figure out years ago.

“Hmm,” is Banner’s reply. “Would you like some of the cookies, Agent Romanov?”

Clint nods, bounces over, and slips his fingers under the sleeve of the lab coat to stroke her arm. “Yeah, try one. They’re good, I promise.”

They are good, and she’s on her second one when she takes in Banner’s stance. He’s back to prodding the iron mask, but he’s also- amused and satisfied.

“The two of you are welcome to stay, but suit pieces are about to start flying.” He points to the observation room.

“I need to go test out some new arrows,” Clint says. His arm slings around her shoulders. “Nat?”

“I- I think I’ll stay here,” she answers.

He nods, squeezes, and leaves.

Banner looks at her impassively.

“Clint hasn’t conditioned me.”

“He’s done a better job than Stark has,” is Banner’s calm reply. “If you would please clear the lab?”

She squares her jaw. “Of course, doctor.”

…

During the night, she finds herself replaying the exchange.

She doesn’t remember when it happened.

One day, she and Barton had a healthy respect for one another and an even healthier sense they could never fully trust one another, and then, one day, Clint touching her was an almost daily occurrence.

Clint’s realisation he can’t provide the best home possible is the only thing keeping him from adopting every stray he comes across. When he was sent to kill her, he almost killed himself by accidently ordering a dish he was allergic to; a child with an epi-pen saved him.

He’s not the idiot she once thought him to be, but she can’t find it in herself to believe he’d realise _Fury’s contingency plans for the Black Widow aren’t enough; I need to develop my own_ , and then, decide, _and the perfect way to do this is to condition her to almost crave my touch._

The former, she hopes to the gods he did realise and plan for, but he’s not cruel enough, subtle enough, or idiotic enough to even consider the latter.

She wonders if Banner is cruel and subtle enough to do this to her as a form of payback.

She wonders if-

The truth, she’s forced to admit in the quiet of her bed, is she’s accepted she’s always going to be compromised in some way, and she can accept this more than she can the vague doubts prickling at her about Clint’s motivations.

Did he touch her one day, see what Banner saw, and decide to try to-

 _Slowly, intimately,_ Loki had said.

Did Clint somehow know, in normal circumstances, his touch could make her do almost anything? Was he screaming inside because a way to control and potentially bring down a dangerous threat was now being levelled against a proven ally?

Shaking her head, she gets out of bed, slips on her ridiculous bunny slippers (he’d given them to her as a joke gift on Valentine's, and her efforts to donate them or stuff them in the back of her closet never came to fruition; in the morning, her appropriate ones were always out of sight with them in their place), and heads to his room.

He’s scrawled out on his stomach and breathing easily, and she’s relieved to see his hearing aids are on the nightstand.

She slips into bed, and he adjusts himself so his head is facing her and rearranges his arm. “Natasha,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

She wraps herself around him and briefly touches his eyes to let him know he doesn’t need to wake up and talk.

 _I could kill him like this_ , she thinks, and only the knowledge her shudder would make him wake and force her to talk stops it from wracking her body.

…

“You okay,” he asks.

His hand is playing with one of her curls, and he looks up at her with a mixture of grogginess and sharpness.

She smiles and nods.

“Is it what Banner said? ‘Cause-” He yawns.

She signs, _I’m fine, Clint. I’m going to shower in my room._

“Snob,” he retorts. Curling back into the pillows, he declares, “There’s nothing creepy about my rubber ducks. They’re…”

She waits until he trails off to slip out. In ten minutes, he’ll be up. In twenty-five, he’ll be searching for her. When he finds her, he’ll tug her arm and lead her down to the kitchens.

…

While Clint is doing his weekly three hours of volunteer work at a nearby animal shelter, she goes back down to the lab and finds Stark babbling and wrestling with one of his robots while Banner works.

They both nod at her, and she sits down at what she hopes is a safe distance from anything flying.

“Of course, when I was ten,” Stark says, “I found a…”

Banner, she notices, isn’t completely tuning him out. There are certain words and tone pitches he’ll find himself responding to, but otherwise, his focus is reserved for his work.

She recognises it. Clint will sometimes decide the comms being strictly for work is a suggestion rather than a rule and talk her ear off while she works.

“What about you? You look like a Pride and Prejudice guy,” Stark says.

“I prefer Emma,” Banner answers.

Stark grins, and Natasha doesn’t see any hint of green, but she does see the flash of self-fury and resignation in Banner’s eyes.

Stark abandons the robot, squeezes Banner’s shoulder, and doesn’t look too put-out when Banner waves away a can of soda he offers. “Really? Why is that? Pepper worships Bronte. Have you ever-”

“Could you man the printer,” Banner politely inquires.

“Sure,” Stark agrees. “Hey, I was thinking, if you’re not busy this weekend, Rhodey and I are going to go to…”

It all clicks, and Natasha can’t repress a slight sigh of relief.

Stark isn’t going to break Banner. He probably has contingency plans for if the Hulk gets too unmanageable (someone had better, because, she simply isn’t built to take on enemies like him), but this has nothing to do with them. He and Pepper Potts _like_ Banner.

When Steve and Stark almost came to blows, she was too focused on other things to try to bring it up, but she knows from when she was observing him, Stark can be undeniably and fiercely loyal to people. When he likes someone, them isolating themselves from the world might be acceptable, but he’s going to get to know them, he’s going to give them access to all his own weaknesses, and they aren’t going to have any choice but to accept this. If he can, he’s going to find a way to make them happy.

It isn’t like this with her and Clint, she knows. But the point is, she realises, it doesn’t matter if he knows what his touch does or not.

Banner looks over, gives her an almost imperceptible nod, and goes back to his work.

She doesn’t know if it’s cruelness or not when she says, “Dr Banner, when I retrieved you from India, you mentioned something about some dish you’d miss. What was it?”

Stark’s eyes light up, and Banner can only briefly scowl at her before Stark is in his space, pulling up holographic websites, and debating whether takeout is acceptable or if an air trip to India is needed.

She slips out.

…

When Clint gets back, he sits down on the couch and puts her feet in his lap.

She puts her book down. “My day was slow. Yours?”

He grins and takes out his phone to start showing her pictures. “They got a new guinea pig, Tasha, and I think he’ll do best with an elderly couple. Oh, and remind me to show you a video of Casey walking the clothesline. He’s definitely circus material. Natalie still isn’t eating much, but I managed to…”

Looking at him, she thinks, _Thank you_.

She can’t blame Banner for being afraid of and fighting against his conditioning, but she wishes she could do something about his resentment towards her for making it plain he probably has less of a chance than she did of succumbing.  


End file.
